


You Just Don't Know It Yet

by fleurlb



Category: Friday Night Lights
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-12-20
Updated: 2011-12-20
Packaged: 2017-10-27 14:48:45
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,526
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/297002
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fleurlb/pseuds/fleurlb
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Hastings Ruckle has a simple plan for Dillon, Texas: no attachments, no drama. It's a foolproof and simple plan, until Buddy Junior shows up and ruins everything.</p><p>Spoilers for all of FNL Season 5.</p>
            </blockquote>





	You Just Don't Know It Yet

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Devilc](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Devilc/gifts).



> Thank you, devilc, for the opportunity to work with two of the most interesting and under-used characters in the history of forever. Hastings, especially, was such a wasted opportunity on the show.
> 
> I hope you enjoy the results. :)

When Hastings Ruckle rolled up in Dillon, Texas, he’d already memorized twelve home addresses and had suffered through being the “new kid” at eight schools. He saw Dillon as a cross between a challenge and a prison sentence: survive the next two years and then he’d be free. Able to attend any college he wanted. Able to set down some roots and live in the same damn place for four whole years.

He had his sights set on a big city. A place where he could be anonymous and unobserved. A place that he could grow into, maybe even spend his whole life in. A crazy idea after his nomadic upbringing, but honestly, if he never saw another moving box again, he’d be a happy guy.

Hastings had sized up Dillon in about 37 seconds and decided his best plan was his old standard. Hang free and loose. Don’t get involved. Don’t get too close. No teams, no dances, no drama, no relationships. Nothing to tie him down or trip him up.

Football had definitely not been in his plan. He didn’t like the equipment. Or the two-a-days in the blistering sun. Or the thick playbook with its endless variations. Or the stupid punishments, like running the bleachers or carrying a teammate on his back.

But football had forced its way into his life and broken him down, like boot camp or a hostage situation. And he had to admit, he liked most of the guys and enjoyed being part of something bigger than himself. And he also had to admit that it made starting a new school and fitting in a heck of a lot easier. The red jersey was another piece of camouflage and it soon became a second skin.

Of course, hanging with guys all the time, he got the ribbing about when he was going to find himself a girl. His rally girl was sweet but she’d blinked dumbly when he’d asked her for pomegranate juice and a copy of _A Fan’s Notes_. “Sure, Hastings, but, um, which fan?” was followed by the predictable “I don’t think Frederick Exley goes to this school.” Hastings could only smile and tell her not to worry about it, that beer and cookies would be fine.

Hastings knew everything he needed to know about Devin when she sat down next to him in American Lit. She was cute, in a boyish way, and he’d have absolutely no trouble spending time with her. It could be a mutually beneficial arrangement and he’d practically bought their Prom tickets before he and a few of the guys ran into her outside the main school building, a clipboard in her hands.

“Dillon needs a Gay-Straight Alliance, wouldn’t you agree?” she asked with a guileless smile and his heart sank.

“Sure could,” he replied and scrawled his name, big and legible at the top. Then he turned to Tinker and thrust the clipboard into his pudgy hands.

“I ain’t gay, man,” he protested.

“I’m sure they won’t discriminate for that, it being the gay-STRAIGHT alliance,” Hastings replied.

“Tink just wishes it was a man-pig alliance,” said Luke, elbowing the lineman in the ribs before dutifully signing his own name.

“Now that’s an alliance I could get behind. You guys have no idea how intelligent pigs are. Well, Luke does, but you, Hastings, you have so much to learn,” said Tinker.

Hastings shot Devin an apologetic smile. “Sorry, you can dress these fellas up but you can’t take them anywhere without it eventually devolving into pig talk.”

“An unfortunate state of affairs,” she responded and Hastings automatically assessed the situation for hidden meaning, but all he saw was her open smile and amusement at his goofy buddies.

Luke returned the clipboard to Devin and the boys trundled off toward the fieldhouse. Hastings felt a twinge of regret, but it was overshadowed by relief. He’d carefully constructed this version of himself, close enough to the real thing to be bearable to live every day but the whole truth was still buried deep within the bedrock of his being. It won’t be this way forever was his mantra and he repeated it often.

§§§ §§§ §§§ §§§ §§§ §§§ §§§ §§§ §§§ §§§ §§§ §§§ §§§ §§§ §§§ §§§

The first time Hastings saw Buddy Junior, the kid was standing on the edge of the field with his father, looking like he’d rather face a firing squad. Hastings figured that Buddy Junior had also been told that he liked football but he just didn’t know it yet. But Hastings also figured that with Buddy for a father, Buddy Junior knew _all_ about football and wasn’t about to like it, not one little bit.

But still, Hastings had to give the kid credit for trying out for the team when he obviously had little interest and even less talent. There was something familiar about Buddy Junior and Hastings wondered how close he could get to him, how safe it would be. But he couldn’t fight the curiosity.

And besides, they were teammates. It was no different than hanging out with Luke or Tinker. And still, Hastings sensed that something was different and the thought filled him with equal parts sinking dread and tingling excitement.

When Hastings saw the roommate list for the Kingdom trip, the feelings he had were magnified and then sent into the spin cycle. Sharing a room with Buddy Junior. The universe clearly had a sick sense of humor and Hastings was prepared to keep it all business, all the time. But he hadn’t counted on Buddy Junior’s snoring problem.

As Hastings eased the sliding glass door closed behind him, he didn’t know why he was trying to be quiet. Buddy Junior had a snore that could rattle windows and wake the dead. Hastings collapsed on the empty bed and closed his eyes, but the sound wasn’t something he could ignore. Even with noise-canceling headphones on, Hastings could still hear the snoring.

With a groan, Hastings got out of his bed and sat on the edge of Buddy Junior’s bed. He bounced, tentatively at first but then with more vigor. Buddy Junior rolled over, but the noise continued. Hastings poked Buddy in the belly, but was rewarded only with a few half-hearted swipes. This kid could sleep through anything.

Exhausted and frustrated, Hastings flopped down on the bed and put his head on Buddy Junior’s pillow.

“Buddy Junior,” he whispered. “Your snoring is killing me. Seriously killing me.”

Buddy Junior awoke with a start and scrambled backwards so that he was no longer sharing a pillow with his roommate.

“What the hell are you doing here?”

“An excellent question. I’m here because this is my room, we’re roommates, and you snore like an 80-year old dude full of sedatives and turkey,” replied Hastings as he stretched out his legs and crossed them at the ankle. He folded his hands and placed them behind his head, relaxing despite the strange circumstances.

Buddy Junior rubbed his hand over his eyes. “Sorry about that.”

“What are you doing here?” asked Hastings in a conversational tone. He wasn’t sure what he was doing, but he’d suddenly decided that it was the perfect time for slumber party chit-chat.

“Wha? Like you said, we’re roommates. Although I still don’t understand why you have to be in my bed.”

“Because, Buddy Junior, I did everything I could short of smothering you with your pillow to get you to stop snoring. Whispering in your ear, strangely, was the only thing that did the trick. And I meant why are you here, on the football team, living in Dillon.”

“My dad,” replied Buddy Junior, with a roll of his eyes and a half-shrug of his shoulder. “Hey, how did you know those things you said about my dad, on the bus today?”

“Just by watching. I notice things, about people. My mom says you have two eyes and ears and only one mouth for a reason.” In fact, Hastings knew he was a little scary with his ability to read people. It was a gift inherited from his father and a key part of his survival plan. Hastings didn’t want to get sidetracked or talk too much about himself. “I don’t understand how you could leave California for Texas football.”

“It’s not like I had a choice. My mom decided she didn’t want to deal with me anymore. My dad decided I’d come here. And then once I was here, there was no escape from football.”

“Dillon, Texas, where escape from football is futile. Has a nice ring to it. Still, California. All the beautiful people and laid-back attitude. Must have been hard to leave behind.”

Buddy Junior sighed and squirmed in the bed, trying to get comfortable. He sat up and leaned back against the headboard. “I don’t know if you’ve been to California, but it’s not like in the movie or tv shows. Not everyone is beautiful. And we didn’t live anywhere near the beach. And with all the traffic, it took two hours to drive anywhere interesting anyway. And my mom has this freak new husband who’s all about _the environment_ so he never wanted to drive anywhere, not even in his precious stupid hybrid.”

Hastings digested this flood of words, adding to his collected knowledge of Buddy Junior, filing away key bits of information for later reference. He debated how much to say and settled on a middle ground. “I lived in California for 6 months when I was 12. Half Moon Bay. I loved it there.”

“I thought your dad was a roughneck. There’s no oil in Half Moon Bay.”

“No, but the headquarters for Chevron is in San Ramon. And my dad’s not a roughneck. He’s a wildcatter.”

“Same difference, isn’t it?”

“No, Buddy Junior, it’s not. My parents have a business that identifies possible places to find oil and then raises funds to support the exploratory drilling. In the early days, my dad did more of the hands-on work on the rigs, but now it’s all meetings and presentations mostly. My mom does the research and recommends where they should try drilling.”

Ed Ruckle was the money man, the businessman, the hustler who set up meetings and busted his ass to fund their explorations. Hastings always suspected that without the help of Vera Ruckle, a gifted and intelligent geologist, Ed would only be half-a-step away from becoming a conman, with his easy ability to read people and convince them to invest.

“Oh. Your dad should talk to my dad. Buddy’s always looking for a good investment.”

“Between us, I’m not sure drilling in Texas is the best investment.”

“Yeah, I’m not sure I’d want any part of a business that Buddy would invest in anyway. He lost like $100,000 on some ponzi scheme or something. All my sister’s tuition money. He ended up getting in a fight a The Landing Strip and then spent the night in jail.”

Hastings marveled at Buddy Junior’s willingness to air the family’s dirty laundry. But it made Hastings hesitant and nervous. Loose lips, ships, and all of that.

“Sounds like a rough time.”

“I missed all the excitement, being in California. Hey, why’d you leave California if it was so perfect?”

Hastings paused, out of habit, but decided to take a chance. “My parents’ company struck oil with some wells in western Kansas. They sold them to Chevron and my dad got a VP job as part of the deal. Only he was... uniquely unsuited for life as an employee so he only lasted about six months.”

“That sucks.”

“Indeed it did,” agreed Hastings, his mind drifting to the friends he left behind, particularly his best friend Will.

“I didn’t want to move to California in the first place, but Lyla, my sister was staying with my dad and it kinda seemed like I would be in the way.”

“You just have one sister?”

“No, I also have a younger sister, Tabbi. Lyla’s four years older, Tabbi’s two years younger.”

“Caught in the middle of two sisters. That doesn’t sound like fun.”

“No. It’s not. How about you?”

“Five brothers, all older. Oldest one is ten years older, next is nine years older, then the twins are eight years older then there was a gap, I guess because my mom had her hands full with four kids under the age of three. Denny, my closest brother, is two years older than me. They’re all out of the house now, scattered all over for work, grad school, college.”

“Five brothers sounds awesome. Like your own little football or basketball team.”

“Yeah, well, it’s not as cool as it sounds. It’s like there’s two families: the big kids and the little kids. And the big kids didn’t want anything to do with the little kids.”

“Still, I bet the big kids never tried to dress you up in doll clothes.”

Hastings laughed. “No, I suppose that’s one upside. OK, Buddy Junior, you win. Having five brothers is awesome compared to being squeezed in the middle of a sister sandwich.”

“Eww, dude, you don’t have to make it sound so gross.”

“It’s all in the interpretation. You’d want to get your mind out of the gutter.” Hastings half-rolled over and propped his head on his hand, giving Buddy Junior an innocent smile.

Buddy Junior laughed and shook his head. “We should really get back to sleep.”

“Well, for me, it would be getting to sleep for the first time tonight, but yes, I hear you’ve got a very early wake up to help Jess get all the equipment on the bus.”

“Yeah, why is that? You’re just as new to the team as I am.”

“No, I’m not. I suffered through two-a-days. Up at hours no one should ever be forced to see, dehydrating in the sun like a raisin, having to drag myself back for more punishment. Believe me, walking on to the team after the season started, you’re getting off easy.”

Buddy Junior huffed out a sigh. “Yeah, whatever. Get in your own bed.”

Hastings grinned and wriggled under the covers. “Nah, I think I’d be much happier here. You won’t snore if you’re aware of someone else in the bed. My dad’s the same way. I can always tell when my mom’s up early because I can hear my dad snoring.”

Buddy Junior shimmied down and smoothed the pillow out from under his head. He gave Hastings an appraising look. “This isn’t part of the hazing, is it? I’m not going to find video of me sleeping with a dude on YouTube, am I?”

“No, Buddy Junior, you’re not. Now please go to sleep,” said Hastings, closing his eyes. The bed was plenty big for both of them and he felt strangely secure and oddly at peace.

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For Buddy Junior, the game had been a blur even before they’d gone to that party and he’d started drinking. It had been ages of boredom, standing on the sidelines, punctuated by seconds of fear when he’d actually had to take the field. And a flash of pride and belonging when Hastings had stuck up for him.

He didn’t kid himself though - he knew he was only invited to the party because, as Hastings’ roommate, he could’ve blown things for them and reported them missing. Not that he would have, since he wasn’t a snitch, but still. It made sense for him to be invited as a roommate. He reminded himself that it didn’t mean anything, even if he had been branded with the same burning coat hanger.

The trip back to Dillon felt interminable. The bus seemed like it had no shocks at all. Every pot hole and stone in the road sent a jolt through the bus that made Buddy Junior hurt in places that he hadn’t even been aware of before he started playing football. The bouncing made his teeth rattle in his head and his hangover had him half-step away from begging to be let off the bus to die alone in peace.

But even with all the physical discomfort, Buddy Junior was happier than he’d been in a long time. He took Marilee’s lipstick out of his pocket again and twisted the base, smiling as the red color made an appearance. He was glad that she’d slipped it in his pocket, along with her number, as he was leaving. Otherwise, he’d be half-convinced that he’d imagined her.

As the bus trip wore on, guys swapped seats and moved around, even though they technically were supposed to stay in one place for the whole trip. Buddy Junior was gazing out the window, daydreaming about Marilee when Hastings squeezed in next to him.

“I’ve driven with my entire family from Mississippi to the Yukon territory and it didn’t feel half as long as this trip,” he said.

Buddy Junior blinked and said the first thing that popped into his head. “Yukon territories? Like in _Ice Road Truckers_?”

“Yeah, although this was in the summer. And we didn’t go as far north as all that. But still, this ride is really harshing my mellow.”

“Yeah, mine too,” agreed Buddy Junior. “You’d think they’d at least spring for a greyhound-level bus.”

“Exactly. Something with a functioning suspension system would be a nice change of pace.”

Buddy Junior looked at Hastings and grinned. All this... bonding. He was starting to feel like he actually had friends. It was a nice change from California.

“So, you going to call that girl?” asked Buddy Junior.

“What girl?”

“You know, the cheerleader. The one who gave you her number?”

“Oh yeah, her. No, I don’t think I will.”

Buddy Junior’s mouth dropped open as he considered the popularity that had to be involved in not calling a girl like that, who was obviously interested. His mother probably would’ve told him that he was going to catch flies if he didn’t close his mouth, but Hastings just looked at him in silent and contented amusement.

“But she’s hot.”

Hastings shrugged and stretched out his body so he could lean the back of his neck on the top of the bus seat. “Not my type.”

“If she’s not your type, then who the hell is? Man, she was perfect.”

Hastings turned his head and gave a small, mysterious smile. “I know my type when I see it. I’m sure she’s a great girl, but she just wasn’t it for me.”

Buddy Junior shook his head. “Must be nice to be able to pick and choose like that.”

Hastings closed his eyes. “It’s not nearly as glamorous as you think.”

Buddy Junior wanted to say more, but it was clear that Hastings was going to try to nap, so Buddy decided to keep his mouth shut. But he couldn’t figure it out. Cool, good-looking, laid-back, smart guy like Hastings who could get any girl he wanted. What was he doing sticking up for a guy like him? It didn’t even start to make sense.

But then, neither did the lipstick in his pocket. Maybe Kevin was right. Maybe sometimes the Universe just sent you what you needed.

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After a couple of hospital-strength painkillers, Buddy Junior was feeling no pain. At least not of the physical variety. His pride was hurting and his father was starting to give him a damn migraine with all his bitching and whining and asking about what happened.

They were back at the apartment and Buddy Senior was pacing with a tumbler of scotch in his hand. “Now, tell me again exactly what happened.”

It was beyond useless. Buddy Junior had no idea what happened. One minute, he was standing there, completely fine, and the next, he was in a heap, electric shocks of pain shooting through his crumpled leg.

“The doctor was saying something about a bone density scan, but I don’t think you need that. I mean, you’re a big strapping boy. You drink enough milk, don’t you? You don’t have brittle bones.”

Buddy Junior mumbled a reply and picked up the remote control for the television. If only it woulf work on his father, he’d hit Mute and Pause and be home free.

The doorbell rang, providing a brief respite for Buddy Junior as his father trudged off to answer it, muttering all the way about who it could be at this hour. Buddy Junior heard a warm, surprised greeting and then “Buddy Junior, look who’s here.”

Luke walked in, followed by Hastings, who was carrying a stack of books and papers.

“Hey, when Miz Taylor heard about your leg, she figured you’d be out of school for a few days, so she rounded up assignments for you and then asked us to drop them off,” said Luke.

“Not that you’re going to thank us for all this,” said Hastings as he dropped the heavy stack of books. They landed with a thud on the glass-topped coffee table and Buddy Junior was disappointed when the glass didn’t crack.

“You boys were on the field. What was Billy Riggins thinking, teaching that stupid dance?”

“It’s the haka,” said Hastings.

“The haka?” repeated Buddy Senior in a dubious tone, his eyes narrowed.

“Yeah, it’s a traditional Maori war dance, used to intimidate enemies.”

“And just where would someone like Billy Riggins find out about a traditional Maori war dance?”

“Probably ESPN 3 in the middle of the night - the New Zealand rugby team start all their matches with the haka,” replied Hastings. Buddy Junior couldn’t tell if Hastings was being helpful or smart-assed, and he suspected that his father couldn’t either.

“That’s all fine for New Zealand, but that’s not how we do things in Texas football,” proclaimed Buddy Senior, challenging Hastings to contradict him.

Luke seemed to sense the danger and spoke up first. “It’s getting kinda late, y’all. We just wanted to make sure Buddy Junior was okay and had his assignments.”

“Well thank you, boys. That was thoughtful,” replied Buddy Senior, clearly warming to Luke.

“Buddy Junior, we’ll see you at practice soon,” said Hastings and leaned over the coffee table to clap him on the arm, right over the branded L. He patted the spot a few times, the weight of his hand making a satisfying thud on Buddy Junior’s sweatshirt.

Luke followed suit and then the guys left. Buddy Junior wasted no time in moving to his room, telling his father that he was exhausted and needed to rest. He lay down on his bed and smiled to himself. It kind of sucked that he had to break his leg to really feel a part of the team, but he’d take it.

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“Y’all get your things and get out of our fieldhouse,” said Coach in that barely controlled way of his. Hastings didn’t need to be told twice and neither did Buddy Junior, who struggled with his crutches, even though he’d been using them for a couple of weeks. Hastings picked up Buddy’s bag without thinking about it and carried it to his car, an ancient wood-paneled station wagon that was in pretty good condition, despite its age and the fact that his five brothers had also learned to drive in it.

“Is your dad picking you up or do you want a ride somewhere or what?” asked Hastings.

In answer to the question, Buddy Junior opened the passenger door and eased himself into the seat. Hastings smiled and pulled open the back door, dropped both bags in the back seat, and then settled into the driver’s seat.

“Where to?” he asked. “I don’t know about you, but I’ve got no interest in going to any of the parties tonight.”

“Yeah, not much to celebrate. But I’m really not looking forward to spending the evening at home alone with Buddy. He’s going to be pissed.”

“I know a place we can hang out,” said Hastings, putting the car in gear and checking over his shoulder before reversing out of the parking lot.

They drove in silence and if Buddy Junior was nervous about the increasingly desolate roads they traveled, he never gave an indication of it. He just stared out the window, wincing whenever the car hit a bump.

“Sorry, man, I forgot about your leg. Does it hurt?”

“Only when you hit a pothole going over 50.”

Hastings eased back on the gas. “We’re almost there.”

“And where’s there, exactly?”

“You’ll know it when you see it,” said Hastings with a smile. He drove for several more miles, then turned off on a dirt access road, which he followed over a hill until they were looking down onto one of his parents’ exploratory fields. He turned the car around so the back faced the field and then killed the engine and flicked off the headlights.

The moon was full and provided more than enough light for Hastings to see as he stepped out of the car and walked around to the back. By the time he had the tailgate open and had lifted out his guitar case to make room for them to sit, Buddy Junior joined him.

Hastings hung back and let Buddy Junior ease himself into the rearward-facing “Way-Back” seat. He kept his car fairly tidy, but tended to leave things in the Way-Back. Buddy Junior grimaced and pulled something out from behind his back.

“ _Hamlet_? I thought you were taking American Lit,” he asked as he dropped the book on the floor.

Hastings rescued the book and put in the back seat. “I am.”

“Were you actually reading a Shakespeare play when you didn’t have to?” asked Buddy Junior.

“Yes, you got a problem with that?” replied Hastings, a little more aggressively than he’d intended. He guessed his nerves were still raw from the epic meltdown of a game that they’d just played.

Buddy Junior held up his hands. “No, man. Just wouldn’t be my thing. That’s all.”

Hastings got his guitar out of the case and sat down next to Buddy Junior. He felt like he needed something to do with his hands, needed a distraction to calm him, especially with Buddy Junior so close. The kid wasn’t exactly small and the Way-Back wasn’t known for its roomy accommodation. Hastings could feel the heat from Buddy Junior’s leg. Feel his arm stretched across the back of the seat. Nearly wished to feel fingers tangling in his hair.

Hastings knew nothing good could come of these thoughts, so he shifted over as much as he could, putting every possible millimeter between them. He told himself that it was nothing, just idle curiosity and too long without a hookup. He cleared his mind and focused on the guitar. Picking idly. Letting his fingers work from muscle memory. The lights of the oil field blinked in the distance and the moonlight was strong enough to cast shadows.

“You watch _Sons of Anarchy_?” he asked after several minutes of mostly comfortable silence.

“Yeah. They’re a bunch of sick bad asses,” replied Buddy Junior.

Hastings smiled and shook his head. “Did you know the story is loosely based on _Hamlet_?”

“For real?”

“For real. I wanted to read it, see how close the show stacked up to the original.”

“And?”

“And, there are definite parallels. The themes of lying and loyalty. The stepfather killing the king. The girlfriend who is losing her mind and her sense of self.”

“Cool.”

“Yeah, you know, so it’s not that weird to read a book that’s not assigned.”

“Don’t kid yourself, it’s still weird,” said Buddy Junior with a shit-eating grin and a playful elbow to Hastings’ ribs.

“It’s maybe not absolutely normal,” Hastings allowed, “but it hardly qualifies as a deep dark secret or something that a guy needs to be ashamed of.”

“I guess,” came the dubious reply before the two lapsed into another comfortable silence. It was an odd mood in the car, both of them shaken and disappointed by the result of the game and the way the team seemed to be imploding before their eyes.

Hastings stretched out his legs. He glanced sideways at Buddy Junior, who was looking out at the lights.

“So, can I ask you...a personal question?” asked Buddy Junior, stumbling over the words.

Hastings tensed momentarily but then forced himself to relax by taking a deep breath and letting it out slowly and silently. “Fire away.”

“What kind of name is Hastings, anyway?”

Relieved laughter bubbled up inside of him. “It’s a long story.”

“It’s not like I have some place I need to be. Or that I could go anywhere even if I wanted to.”

“Right, you know the singer from the 60s, Bob Dylan? My mom loves him. Decided she’d name her last baby after his hometown, which she thought was Hastings, Minnesota.”

“That’s not such a long story.”

“It’s not that simple. Turns out she’d made a mistake. Bob Dylan was actually raised in Hibbing, Minnesota.”

“So your name should be Hibbing?”

“I’d hope that if she’d known it was Hibbing that she would’ve named me something different.”

“How did she even make the mistake? Ten seconds on Wikipedia would’ve straightened things out.”

“Great idea, only Wikipedia didn’t exist in 1995,” chided Hastings, giving Buddy Junior a quick elbow in the ribs, which made him laugh and then curse when his reaction jostled his leg.

“What about your name? Does it actually say Buddy Junior on your birth certificate?”

“Yeah. Although you know what’s funny? Buddy’s real name isn’t Buddy at all. It’s Herbert Reginald Garrity IV.”

“God that’s a mouthful.”

“I know. I don’t know whether to be relieved I’m not Herbert the Fifth or pissed off that I’m Buddy Junior when there isn’t even a real Buddy Senior.”

“Take it from an almost Hibbing, Buddy Junior is preferable to Herbert.”

Buddy Junior smiled and moved one of his crutches so he could pick at the foam padding. Hastings played the tune from a Modest Mouse song and mumbled the words, nearly under his breath. _And it’s true we named our children after towns that we’d never been to and it’s true that the clouds just hung around, like black Cadillacs outside a funeral._

“You think we’re going to get to State?” asked Buddy Junior, breaking the spell.

Hastings stiffened again, conflicted, surprised to find that he’d actually be disappointed if they didn’t get to State. “I don’t know. Not if we keep turning on each other like we have been.”

Buddy Junior rubbed his branded arm. “I know. What happened to brothers forever? I thought that night meant something.”

“Me too. And maybe it still will, once they work out their bullshit issues.” Hastings remembered that night, though it was a haze. He suddenly remember Buddy Junior’s hookup. “How’s what’s-her-name? Marley?”

“Marilee. And she’s okay, I guess. We’ve texted and had some g-chats, but Kingdom might as well be on the other side of the world when neither of us drive.”

“Yeah,” said Hastings. He had a strange impulse to offer to drive Buddy Junior to Kingdom, but as much as the thought of ten hours together in the car appealed to him, the thought of Buddy Junior kissing a girl for even ten seconds caused a foreign and completely unwelcome feeling to ripple through him.

Hastings went with it for a minute, let the scene play out in his head, and the feeling returned, tugging at the edges of his consciousness. He turned it over and over until he identified it: jealousy. His hands tightened on his guitar and he started to play out of tune.

Daydreaming about Buddy Junior running his hands through Hastings’ hair was one thing. A surge of jealousy when thinking about Buddy Junior kissing a girl. That was something else entirely. Something dangerous and unwelcome. A potential timebomb that could destroy everything that Hastings had worked so hard to build.

“Shit, what time is it? I forgot my mom wanted me back early, sorry, man, I’m going to have to run you home now,” said Hastings, hating how lame and stupid he sounded but unable to figure out a better way to get out of there before anything worse happened.

Hastings was out of the car and had his guitar back in its case before Buddy Junior had even fully taken in the words. He looked confused and a little hurt. Hastings held out a hand to help him out of the car. Buddy Junior took his hand, causing a current to surge through Hastings and confirming his decision to call an end to the evening.

On the drive back to Dillon, Hastings stole looks at Buddy Junior, who was filling the empty space between them with a long story involving his older sister and some guy she used to date. Hastings couldn’t focus because he was too busy trying to figure out how he’d been so blind-sided, especially when he’d thought that he’d been on guard.

He tried to stay calm. Tried to remind himself that this had nothing to do with Buddy Junior and everything to do with not having any physical contact for several months. It was time to head to Austin and find a hookup at UT. A nice, anonymous, no-strings-attached hook-up. That should set everything right.

And if it didn’t? Hastings shook his head. It would work. It had to.

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Buddy Junior unlocked the door to the empty apartment and shut the door. He was relieved that his dad was still out, probably drowning his sorrows over the loss. The last thing Buddy Junior wanted to do was relive the miserable game in a play-by-play postmortem heavy with commentary on how the game would’ve been different if only he hadn’t broken his leg doing that ridiculous dance.

Fact was, Buddy Junior had his own postmortem playing non-stop in his head and it wasn’t pretty. He’d thought that things were going pretty good with Hastings. They were buddies at least, if not actual friends. So why, in the middle of hanging out, did Hastings suddenly “remember” that his mom had imposed some ridiculous, unusual and completely arbitrary curfew?

It didn’t make a lot of sense and it nagged at Buddy Junior for the rest of the weekend. He tried to tell himself that it wasn’t about him at all and that of course, things were cool with Hastings. But he couldn’t quite believe it.

Buddy Junior had the sinking suspicion that he must have said something dumb or done something wrong to get Hastings to dump him back at the apartment. But as much as he replayed the evening in his mind, he couldn’t see anything. Except maybe telling the dumb saga of Tim and Lyla, but they’d been on their way home then. So the damage, if there was any, had been done before that point. He’d just been babbling because he was nervous or self-conscious or something.

On Monday, he didn’t see Hastings except in passing in the hallway, just like any other day. He seemed fine, completely the same as always. Well, that wasn’t quite right. He seemed a little bit... lighter and even more laid-back than usual, if that was even possible. he’d heard Luke once say that if Hastings got any more laid-back, he’d be dead.

At lunch, Hastings sent him to stake out their table while he got lunch for both of them, which he’d been doing since Buddy Junior broke his leg. So they were cool, then, Buddy Junior decided as he waited for the guys to come back from the lunch line.

Luke and Becky were the last to arrive, sliding their trays onto the table and sitting down next to each other, a new development that made Buddy Junior a little resentful. Not that he liked Becky like that, he’d just preferred the lunch table when it was limited to the guys from the team.

“So, what kinda damage did y’all get up to over the weekend?” asked Luke as he peered dubiously at the beef stroganoff, poking it with his fork a few times.

“I did jack-shit but I can see one lucky man who got himself laid,” said Tinker, causing Becky’s cheeks to blush.

“I was away at a beauty pageant all weekend,” she said quickly, purposefully looking away from Luke.

“Not you two. One dude. Him,” clarified Tinker, pointing at Hastings.

“Oh,” said Becky, her eyes lighting up as some gossip clicked in her head. “You know, Mindy’s sister goes to UT and she mentioned that a hot young football stud from Dillon was up there this weekend, looking to get lucky. Seems like that worked out for you, huh?”

Buddy Junior watched Hastings carefully and saw something flicker on his face, a fleeting emotion that reminded him of the time Buddy Senior got caught with Tyra’s mom. Shame? Regret? Whatever it was didn’t square up with a guy getting laid. Buddy Junior decided that he must have imagined it.

Hastings smiled mysteriously and shook his head, then took a bite of his lunch, pointedly refusing to engage in the gossip.

“Heard he was also a real heart-breaker. Turned down invites from a couple of girls and ended up leaving the party with his brother.”

“Oh man, see, we thought this story was going to have a happy ending. If you know what I mean,” said Luke, disappointed.

“Who says that it didn’t at the next party we went to?” asked Hastings with sly grin and a wink.

“Thats what I’m talking about,” said Tinker, in a perfect imitation of Vince that made the whole table laugh before talk turned to their jackass quarterback.

Buddy Junior laughed along with the rest of the table, but still felt a little hurt, even though he told himself that he had no right to feel that way. The fact that a guy as cool as Hastings was willing to hang out with him should be enough.

After lunch, Buddy Junior played it so he managed to casually catch up with Hastings. He wasn’t exactly intending on saying anything, but he knew he probably would anyway.

“Where are you going?” he asked, wincing as he sounded like the world’s most uptight hall monitor.

Hastings pushed the bar on the door to the parking lot. “Out. I’ve got American History next with Mr. Pinello and I don’t know about you, but there are only so many damn filmstrips I can watch.”

Buddy Junior nodded, prepared to let Hastings go and just forget about this whole dumb thing, but the guy held the door open so he decided that going to Geometry probably wasn’t all that necessary just this once.

“You do this often?” he asked, working hard on the crutches to keep up with Hastings’ long stride.

“Few times a week, at least. I hate having my time wasted.”

“What do you usually do?” asked Buddy Junior.

“Usually? I go for a walk, but that’s probably not an option today,” replied Hastings with a smile.  
 A few minutes later, they were sitting in the Way-Back of Hastings’ car. Buddy Junior thought it felt a lot like Friday night and wondered how he could casually bring the topic up. Instead, his big mouth said something stupid and he instantly regretted it.

“Feels a lot like Friday. I suppose in about ten minutes, you’re suddenly going to remember that you need to be in class, since you don’t want to hang out with me anymore.”

Hastings closed his eyes and pinched the bridge of his nose. The he flopped back into the corner, leaning his head against the window so he could look at Buddy Junior. “It’s not even like that.”

“Like what?”

“Like whatever you’re thinking, like I didn’t want to hang out with you Friday night. For one thing, I went up on Saturday, after my brother called in the morning and invited me.”

Buddy Junior shrugged and felt sullen. “I spent Saturday night avoiding my dad so I wouldn’t have to talk about the game. Woulda been nice to be out of the house. But I understand. I’m barely cool enough to hang out with at high school parties.”

“Buddy,” said Hastings, an odd note of pleading in his voice. “You have to trust me that it’s not that.”

It was clear that Buddy Junior had hit a nerve, triggered some kind of fault line that he hadn’t even known existed. His impulse was to needle, to pry and pick until he had the truth exposed, but he held back. For once in his life, he decided to keep his stupid mouth shut.

Hastings fixed him with a stare, the kind that felt like it was reaching inside and pulling out memories and thoughts, like some freaky robot from the future. Buddy Junior felt uneasy, as something in stomach woke up and squirmed. He could feel beads of sweat on his forehead.

“My brother Denny goes to UT. I went up to see him. We left the party because he wanted to go to The Cockpit.”

The derisive laugh burst out of Buddy Junior’s mouth before he could stop it. “That sounds like a gay bar.”

“That because it is a gay bar,” said Hastings, his eyes never leaving Buddy’s, his eyebrows raised and lips pressed tight.

“Oh.....,” said Buddy Junior, then repeated it a little louder as the full implication set in. “What... what was it like?”

“Like any other bar, really. Although the fifty-cent jello shots were nice.”

“What did you do?” asked Buddy Junior as an unbidden image of Hastings shirtless and shiny popping into his head.

“Danced, mostly.”

“You can dance? Like really dance?”

Hastings seemed to relax and his smile slowly unfurled. “Yes, Buddy Junior, I can dance. Maybe not great, but I’ve never been laughed off the dance floor.”

“Plays football, dunks like a fiend in basketball, plays the guitar, dances, collects girls’ phone numbers like Halloween candy. Is there anything you can’t do?”

Hastings shrugged smiled, but there was something sad about it. “All just part of my charm. So your dad, was he pissed about the loss?”

“You have no idea,” replied Buddy Junior with a roll of his eyes. “All weekend, he was at me about what I thought was the problem with Vince and what was going on with the offense.”

And with that, all thoughts of UT and gay bars were forgotten as Buddy Junior vented about his dad. When they heard the bell signaling the end of class, they returned to the building, since Hastings had a quiz in Chemistry and Buddy Junior had study hall and needed to do research for his English paper.

The research bored him, though, and it wasn’t long before he was thinking of Hastings and his brother. Buddy Junior stole a furtive glance around the library and then casually ambled over to the computers. The library was practically empty, but he still wanted to be careful, so he logged in as Tinker (not difficult, since his password was the name of his pig) and opened Google.

 _What makes a guy gay_

He clicked on one of the links and scanned the article quickly. “The more older brothers a man has, the more likely he is to be gay although scientists have not isolated the reason for this connection.”

Buddy Junior thought of Hastings’ family, all the boys, and thought it made sense. But then he was struck by a second thought. Was Hastings gay? The question made Buddy Junior dizzy and nervous, like the ground was shifting under his feet.

“Of course not,” Buddy Junior said to himself. “Don’t be stupid.”

He heard Lyla’s hectoring, goody-two-shoes voice in his head. _He’s your friend. Would it really make a difference to you if he was gay?_

But Buddy Junior knew the answer to that with absolute clarity. Yes, it would make a difference. But not in the way that someone like Lyla might think it would. It would make a difference in ways that Buddy Junior didn’t even want to _think_ about, let alone put into words out loud.

Buddy Junior took a deep breath and told himself to get a grip. Having brothers, apparently, made you gay. And he had no brothers, so he couldn’t be gay. End of story. Hastings was manly and normal and good at sports and didn’t wave his hands theatrically or talk with a lisp or love show tunes, so he couldn’t be gay either. No one here was gay so no one had anything to worry about.

He moved the mouse pointer over the red X at the top of the browser and clicked it crisply, as though getting rid of the evidence was enough to eliminate the problem.

“Don’t go borrowing trouble, you already have enough” was one of Gramma Garrity’s favorite sayings. And Buddy Junior knew all about trouble and he was going to stick with the trouble he knew and not go borrowing strange and scary new trouble. Not when he finally had a few friends.

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The euphoria on the bus was overwhelming and intoxicating. Hastings wanted to laugh, knowing that if pre-season-him could see himself now, he’d be confused and surprised. He hadn’t just drunk the Kool-Aid, he’d taken a bath in it. Nearly let himself drown in it.

“Coach, we missed the turn-off for the fieldhouse,” said Luke.

“We’re not going to the fieldhouse,” replied Coach.

“Then where’re we going?” asked Vince, but Coach just glanced back with a small, tight-lipped smile and then looked out the front window.

Hastings half-stood and half-crouched on the seat, leaning over Buddy Junior to press his face against the bus window. It was the half-dilapidated park on the edge of Kilroy. Seemed a strange place for the bus to take them, but the lights were on and a large crowd had gathered, a joyous red mob that had apparently caught the contagious euphoria.

A small, critical voice in Hastings’ head told him that this was ridiculous, but he was able to let the noise of the crowd drown that voice out. He couldn’t deny it: this shit was habit-forming.

When the bus pulled to a stop, he was one of the first ones up and out of his seat. When he stepped out, he was mobbed by cheerleaders and rally girls. He laughed to himself, thinking that this was as close to feeling like a rock star that he’d ever get.

He edged away from the girls and wandered through the crowd, soaking up the positive energy and excitement. It seemed like everyone’s families had shown up for the joyous homecoming, but he knew he wouldn’t find his parents there. His dad was at an investment conference in Dallas and his mom hated crowds.

Still, it didn’t bother him. He liked floating through the chaos, feeling mostly part of it but also a bit separate. _Same shit, different day_ he thought but without heat or bitterness.

When the crowd felt overwhelming, Hastings worked his way over to the edge to get some air, nearly crashing into Buddy Junior in the process. The kid was balanced on his crutches and looked out of place and uncomfortable.

“Where’s your dad?”

“Celebrating with the coaches, I guess.”

“What are you doing here on the edge of things?” Hastings asked.

Buddy Junior rattled his crutches and then shook his head. “C’mon, man, we both know I don’t really deserve to be here. Not the way that y’all do.”

Hastings tapped Buddy Junior’s arm, where he knew two lines of scar tissue formed a large L. “Brothers for life? Remember?”

Buddy Junior looked like he might argue but then a slow smile spread across his face. Without thinking, Hastings pulled him into a headlock, knocked off his hat, and messed up his hair, all the while being careful not to overbalance him. And also being careful not to think too much about the fact that he was touching Buddy Junior.

Luke jumped on Hastings’ back and whooped in his ear. “Can y’all believe this? C’mon, Tink’s mom’s invited us to their place for a celebratory dinner.”

“Mmmm, okra cooked in ham juice, my favorite,” said Hastings with a smile. He let Buddy Junior go, then picked up his hat and handed it to him.

“Let’s not leave the lady waiting,” said Luke, throwing an arm around each of his teammate’s necks.

Hastings smiled at Buddy Junior, who was grinning. Just a couple of teammates, celebrating what they hoped would be the second most awesome win of their high school football careers.

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Winning State had been the most exciting thing that had ever happened to Buddy Junior. He tried to keep it in perspective. He hadn’t done anything but stand on the sideline on crutches. But still, for two solid weeks, whenever he closed his eyes, he could see that perfect 70-yard pass spiraling through the air. He could feel the crowd hold its collective breath, could feel time stand still for what felt like minutes as the ball traveled a perfect arc, then bobbled around in the end zone before it was tipped into Hastings’ outstretched hands.

Buddy Junior could also remember the way Hastings ran up the field, celebrating with every teammate, bumping chests with Luke and Vince before heading to the sideline and going straight to Buddy Junior, pulling him into the celebration and making him feel, once again, like a real part of the team.

Hastings had been The Man, even though he’d modestly mumbled through interviews and shared the credit with the whole team. And Buddy Junior had been proud and more than a little bit star-struck, even though he tried to remind himself that it didn’t mean anything, that every guy on the team felt the same way. Brothers for life and all of that.

The school days between State and winter break had been a blur of celebrations, at first, and then a swirl of whispers, rumors, and concern. What was Coach going to do? Who was going to get to play on the super-team?

Luke had insisted to anyone who would listen that anyone who had a State ring had to be on the super-team. Tinker had been glum, convinced that no super-team would want him when they already had linebackers who were just as big **and** could run the 40 in less than a couple of minutes. Buddy Junior kept his mouth shut, since he knew that he’d be on the super-team, whether he wanted to or not. His dad would make sure of it.

Buddy Junior had been relieved by the quiet of winter break, happy not to discuss super-teams with anyone. Except his father, of course, who wanted to discuss rehab plans and training. When his dad left for northern California to watch Tabbi participate in a regional debate meet, Buddy Junior felt even happier than a kid on Christmas.

He didn’t admit to himself that he was lonely. He just slept, watched movies, and played _Call of Duty_ until his blisters had blisters.

After two days alone, he was bored and beyond ready to have his cast taken off. His leg itched a million times worse than poison ivy and poison sumac combined. It was distracting and unbearable, and it finally drove him to find ways to scratch the itch.

A knitting needle would’ve been perfect, but of course neither he nor his dad knitted. A wire coat hanger would’ve also done the job, but Buddy Senior had a thing about fine wooden hangers. (“These small details matter, son. A man who will use cheap hangers will cut other corners too, mark my words.”)

Finally, in the bottom of a junk drawer full of matches, old check books, and take-away menus, Buddy Junior found one of Lyla’s old eyebrow pencils, sharpened to a perfect point. He wasted no time in slipping the pencil into his cast and scratching. He was careful at first, but the more he scratched, the more he seemed to itch. And the itch moved around like a frog on a hot skillet.

Buddy Junior thought he was going to lose his mind. Each second of relief seemed to be followed by thirty seconds of an agonizing itch just out of reach. He scratched more, deeper, further into the cast before his fingertips lost their grip. He could feel the pencil wedged between his leg and the cast, but it was an inch out of his pudgy fingers’ reach.

He slumped at the kitchen table and rested his head on the cool glass. He couldn’t just leave the pencil in there - he’d never hear the end of it when his dad took him to get the cast off in two weeks. He needed help, but who could he trust to help and not make fun of him?

Hastings was the obvious answer and Buddy Junior pulled out his cell phone. A few texts later, he was on his way. Buddy Junior hobbled around the house, picking up and throwing out empty soda bottles and pizza boxes. He felt strangely nervous and flushed, which he told himself was stupid.

It was just one friend, helping out another. Nothing strange about that. It definitely wasn’t anything to get all sweaty-palmed about. Buddy Junior took a deep breath and tried to clear his head of all these crazy thoughts. He could barely admit it to himself, but he’d been ridiculously curious about Hastings ever since the revelation about his brother.

So curious, that it seemed to have seeped into his sub-conscious and infected his dreams. Buddy Junior’s face burned as he remembered a particularly vivid dream about Hastings and a suspicious naked wrestling match in an empty locker room. The dream had been great while he was having it but sent him right to the library, where he once again logged in as Tinker, and assured himself that having same-sex dreams with sexual overtones was completely normal and didn’t mean anything.  
 The doorbell rang and Buddy Junior started to make his way toward the door. He had just turned the corner when the door opened and Hastings stepped in, looking around appraisingly.

“So this is the bachelor pad, huh?”

“Yeah, it’s a little depressing but it’s not too bad.”

“Where’s your dad?” asked Hastings as he followed Buddy Junior back to the living room.

“California,” replied Buddy Junior as he settled onto the couch and propped his leg up on the coffee table.

“So, you’ve got something stuck in the cast?” asked Hastings, rubbing his hands together like a mad scientist.

Buddy Junior nodded and pointed to the left side of his cast.

“OK, I’m going to need a flashlight and some tweezers.”

“Flashlight’s on top of the fridge. I think my sister might’ve left some tweezers in the bathroom.

Hastings collected the implements and then returned, crouching down next to Buddy Junior. He pulled the baggy shorts out of the way, leaned his head against Buddy’s leg, and shined the flashlight toward the cast. Buddy Junior felt the scratch of stubble on his skin and squirmed.

“Easy, Buddy Junior, I haven’t even done anything yet.”

He tried to stamp down the urge to beg Hastings to do something, anything. _What the hell was wrong with him?_

“Sorry,” he mumbled.

Hastings picked up the tweezers and, after a few minutes of fishing around in the cast, pulled out the eyebrow pencil.

“Interesting,” he said. “I wouldn’t have thought that would be your color at all.”   
“Shut up, it’s my sister’s,” replied Buddy, hoping his cheeks weren’t as red as they felt.

Hastings flopped on the couch next to him. “So, now what?”

Buddy Junior was caught off guard. It somehow hadn’t it occurred to him that Hastings might want to stay. “I don’t know. I’ve just been hanging out. Watching tv, playing video games. You know, the usual.”

“The usual sounds good. And I brought a little something,” said Hastings, pulling out a bottle of vodka.

“Nice,” said Buddy Junior, immediately cursing himself out for sounding so stupid. He definitely needed some alcohol. Or a lot of alcohol. Anything to turn off the running commentary in his head, the one that pointed out every social mistake he made.

Hastings went to the kitchen and returned with a couple of glasses into which he poured a generous amount of vodka. He handed a glass to Buddy Junior, clinked it, and took a sip. Buddy followed suit and nearly choked.

“What the hell? Is this vodka or something pretending to be vodka in a vodka bottle”

Hastings smiled. “This, Buddy Junior, is the finest vodka that $5 and a fake ID can buy.”

“Oh, in that case,” said Buddy Junior and took another drink. He knew what to expect this time, so it went down a lot smoother.

They flipped through the channels, finally putting on a random bowl game. Buddy Junior couldn’t even say who was playing and Hastings seemed to have an equal amount of disinterested.

“We should play Beer Pong, or Vodka Pong, whatever,” said Buddy Junior, casting around for something to focus on.

“Yeah, I’ve seen you play Beer Pong. You’re terrible. It wouldn’t be a fair match-up,” said Hastings with a smile.

“You suck,” replied Buddy, playfully slapping Hastings.

“You have no idea,” Hastings said, holding Buddy Junior’s gaze for a few seconds and nearly causing him to choke again.

 _What the hell was that?_ wondered Buddy Junior before dismissing it as just one of those crazy things guys said to each other when they were goofing around.

“Still,” said Buddy Junior, “we should play something. You know, I’ve never played I Never.”

Hastings took a drink. “Sounds like you’ve just started.”

Buddy Junior grinned. “Okay, your turn.”

Hastings thought for a minute. “I’ve never stayed up all night playing video games.”

They both took a drink and grinned. Buddy Junior had the next one almost immediately. “I’ve never been suspended from school.” He took a drink and noticed that Hastings did not.

“Interesting... I’ve never gotten to the middle of a Tootsie pop without biting it.” They both took a drink.

“Seriously, who can do that?” asked Buddy Junior. “OK, I’ve never been skydiving.”

Neither one of them drank on that one and then Hastings had his turn. They continued playing for several turns and Buddy Junior couldn’t help but notice that Hastings had a much more interesting life. He also couldn’t help but notice that he was starting to get pleasantly tipsy.

“I’ve never smuggled something into a foreign country,” said Hastings.

Buddy Junior laughed, but then watched Hastings carefully and laughed again when he didn’t drink. “I know you have a more interesting life, but I’m glad it’s not that much more interesting.”

“No foreign intrigue here. I’ve only ever been to Canada.”

“I’ve never had a three-way,” said Buddy Junior, the alcohol emboldening him to ask a risque question for the first time.

Hastings looked at Buddy Junior while he took a good, long drink. Buddy Junior tried and failed to keep his mouth from falling open. “Seriously?”

“Seriously.”

“Two girls,” said Buddy Junior, in awe. He couldn’t imagine having two girls interested in him at the same time, let alone willing to all fool around together.

Hastings looked away and then looked back. “A girl and a guy, actually.”

Buddy Junior was glad he wasn’t drinking at that moment because he would’ve sprayed vodka all over the living room. Hastings shifted in his spot on the couch, folding a leg up underneath him so he could turn and face Buddy Junior, who was speechless for once in his life. He had hundreds of questions swirling around in his head and his stomach felt like it was in free-fall. He drank half of the vodka in his glass, just to have something to do while he tried to figure out what to say.

“Maybe we should play something else, like Truth or Dare. Or Beer Pong,” Buddy Junior finally said.

Hastings looked at him, a look that was equal parts appraising and smoldering, and Buddy Junior’s nerves went into overdrive. “Buddy Junior,” he said, voice low and rumbling, “I’m not going to dare you to do something that you already know you want to do.”

“You know what I want to do?” asked Buddy Junior as Hastings nodded. “And you’re okay with that?”

Hastings laughed. “I’m just fine with it. In fact, let me put us both out of our misery.”

He leaned forward and Buddy Junior jumped, his head crashing into Hastings’ mouth. Hastings yelped and Buddy Junior was convinced he’d ruined everything. He winced and looked at Hastings, expecting to see blood. Instead, Hastings was fine and looking more than a little amused.

“Relax, I don’t bite...unless you want me to,” he said with a slow-burning grin and Buddy Junior melted back into the couch, eyes closed and waiting. It felt like the ascent of the first hill in a roller coaster, a long climb of anticipation and excited nervousness.

Hastings’ lips brushed Buddy Junior’s cheek before settling on his lips. Buddy Junior felt soft skin and scratchy stubble. He lifted a hand to Hastings’ face and traced a finger along his strong jaw. Hastings’ hands came up and tangled in his hair and, before Buddy Junior knew what was happening he was _really_ kissing Hastings.

It felt different and weird and right and about thirty other contradictory things all jumbled up together. Buddy Junior didn’t know what this meant about him, about Hastings, and decided he was sick of wondering. He decided it was time to relax and focus on what he did know with 100% certainty: he didn’t want Hastings to stop kissing him anytime soon.

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Hastings woke up next to Buddy Junior for the second time in his life. Only this time, they were sharing a pillow and Buddy Junior’s hand was resting comfortably on Hastings’ chest. It felt good, the reassuring weight of it. Hastings closed his eyes and savored the moment, the closeness. He knew that when Buddy Junior woke up, everything could change and he had to brace himself for that. But for the moment, he would enjoy this.

He watched as Buddy Junior surfaced slowly and eventually opened his eyes. He blinked a few times and then looked away. When he looked back, he had a shy smile on his face.

Hastings made a mental note that he hadn’t moved his hand yet and he counted that as a good thing. Buddy Junior yawned and then asked, “So, how does this all work?”

“How does all what work?”

“You know, this,” he said and gestured a little with his hand. “I mean, you know, who pitches and who catches?”

“Whoa, Buddy Junior, that’s some varsity-level shit you’re talking about. At the risk of mixing sports metaphors, let’s start with Pop Warner, maybe work our way slowly up to freshman football, then JV. And then maybe, just maybe, varsity,” said Hastings, putting his hand on top of Buddy’s.

Buddy Junior smiled and laced his fingers with Hastings’. “I like football, I just don’t know it yet.”

“Well, we’ll figure it out, together,” said Hastings.  
/fin


End file.
